


Ghost of Lovers Past

by lovesrogue36



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:23:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrogue36/pseuds/lovesrogue36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter comes face to face with a ghost from his past the night before the raid on Miraz's fortress. Written for Secret Santa 2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost of Lovers Past

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia nor am I associated with the estate of C.S. Lewis.
> 
> Note: There is some underage sex in this but, of course, Peter's a good deal older than he looks so it's a matter of perspective.

Torchlight flickered against the cold, damp walls, licking out at rough drawings of Narnia’s Golden Age rulers. Peter studied the sketch of himself, the tallest figure with a sense of command and bearing. He sighed quietly, the sound echoing eerily throughout the maze-like halls.

“A lot of ghosts in these walls,” a soft, feminine voice murmured calmly from behind him.

A small smirk tugged at his lips as he turned, lifting his burning torch higher. “Like you, you mean?”

“I am just one of many these days, I’m afraid,” she amended, stepping into the light, hands folded in front of her. Flames flickered over translucent golden curls and a long, lacy white gown.

Peter let his eyes travel down her body, over her curves, everything about her exactly as he remembered it. “The last millennium has been good to you, Danielle,” he smiled slightly, eyes darting back up to hers.

“Millennium and a half.” She reached out, drawing her fingertips over the sketch of him on the wall. “And yet somehow you seem younger, sire.” She raised an eyebrow pointedly at him. “Hardly fair, that.”

“I’ve lost a few years, it’s true,” Peter sighed, glancing down at his boyish frame wistfully.

Danielle smiled slightly, knowingly. Her hazel eyes had always been too full of wisdom for her youthful face. “Nothing wrong with gaining a little extra time in life,” she pointed out, her voice soft.

Wincing, he reached out his free hand. “My apologies. I did not mean to offend you,” he murmured. Her life had been cut so short and here he was complaining about having more time in his own.

“You didn’t.” The promise was quiet as she slid her hand into his, the touch light and barely there as she clung to strands of corporeality. “I know you would never take life for granted, Peter.” Her figure grew frothy again as she let go of his hand. “You never have.”

“Well I’m not the man I was 1300 years ago,” Peter disagreed dryly. “I’m not even a man.”

“Shh, don’t talk like that. You are more a man than many of the warriors gathered here today,” she assured him softly, pressing her finger to his lips.

“Only because of you.” Peter lowered the torch in his hand slightly, light casting over the red bloom on her side, her voice fading in his head as he remembered the first time he had realized what the stain on her beautiful white dress really was.

“You’re a man because of _you_ , Peter. I simply helped you find your way once, a very long time ago…”

_Peter sought Tumnus out in his study one afternoon after the Pevensies had officially, finally, moved into Cair Paravel. Rain drizzled against glass windowpanes outside as the High King let himself into the dark, wood-paneled room, knocking lightly on the door. “Oh good, you’re still here, Mr. Tumnus. I wanted to speak with you about something… unusual,” he announced determinedly._

_Tumnus glanced up from a thick volume and raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Please, sire, sit down.” He motioned to the chair across his desk as he sat himself. “What can I do for you?”_

_“Well I’ve-” Peter cut off, flushing in embarrassment. “It’s just that I-” He glanced over his shoulder at the closed door and leaned forward a bit conspiratorially. “It’s just that I haven’t been sleeping much lately. Not well, anyway. I think there might be… someone or… some_ thing _in my chamber.”_

 _Tumnus’ eyes grew wide. “A spy? One of the hags, perhaps, or a_ dwarf? _” he cried in horror._

_“No, no, nothing like that, I don’t believe,” Peter assured him quickly. “It’s more like… like a feeling I get, when I walk into the room. As though I’m intruding on someone else’s space.”_

_“Hmm…”  The faun sat slowly back in his chair, picking up a small cup of tea as he went. “Well…” He glanced down warily at Peter. “There_ is _a legend about this place. You aren’t the first kings and queens to live here, you see. A Queen, one of Queen Swanwhite’s descendants, lived here for a short time, before the Winter came. It’s said that… well, it’s said that she had a sister, who was just as lovely as she. A handsome prince from Archenland, to the South, fell madly in love with her and they became engaged._

 _“But the Witch, like any woman would, I suppose, although she was hardly a woman, wanted a king to reign by her side, and this prince was so captivating, so regal and powerful, that she wanted_ him _and him alone. So she murdered the beautiful lady, stabbed her on her wedding day, and kidnapped the prince, who was never heard from again. The Queen and her followers fled from the Cair but it’s said that the sister’s spirit stayed on, whether trapped or by choice, no one knows. It’s_ said _…” Tumnus paused for effect. “It’s said that she has haunted this place ever since.”_

 _Peter stared with rather round eyes as he finished his story. “You mean there’s a_ ghost _in my room?” he cried._

_Tumnus shrugged. “Oh probably not. It’s likely just a story made up to scare children away from trying to explore the palace when it was empty.” He glanced back down at the book on his desk, sipping at his tea._

_Groaning, Peter leaned back in his seat. “Well I’m sure the ghost story will help me sleep better tonight,” he complained dryly, pushing his crown further back on his head._

_Raising his cup, Tumnus nodded. “Glad to be of help, sire.”_

_Peter had wandered the halls that night, trying to keep himself busy so he wouldn’t have to go to sleep in his room. It was sometime after the stroke of midnight when he finally found himself standing in front of the large, wooden double doors that led to his grand chamber. He sighed and pushed one open reluctantly, wincing as it creaked in protest._

_“You haven’t been sleeping,” a feminine voice murmured from the bed._

_He jumped in surprise, letting out a shriek he quickly muffled with his hand, not wanting to wake his brother and sisters down the hall. “Who are you and what do you want?” he hissed, fumbling in the dark for his sword and coming up with a ruler from the desk instead._

_Leaning over, she lit a candle, flooding the room with a romantic glow. He hesitated at the sight of a stunning blond curled up on his bed, laughter bubbling out of her. It took a moment for him to realize she was laughing at_ him _and his ruler. Peter pursed his lips, tossing the offending straightedge back onto his desk. “Who are you and what do you want?” he demanded again, irritably._

_“I think you know who I am, sire,” she chuckled. “I’m Danielle. The ghost.” She stood from the bed, her white dress trailing on the floor, hands folded calmly in front of her. Peter studied her, squinting in the dim candlelight. “It’s not me keeping you up is it?”_

_“I do believe it is, unless there’s some other ghost haunting my chamber as well,” he growled._

_“Oh, no, no, just me,” she assured him, holding out a hand. “We got off on the wrong foot, I’m afraid. Lady Danielle, sister to Queen Annabelle the III, daughter to Queen Annabelle the II and eternal betrothed to Prince Coan of Archenland.” Her voice was dry with sarcasm as she added, “All of whom have been dead for a hundred years, so who cares anyhow?”_

_Peter smirked slightly, shaking her hand, surprised when she didn’t fade right through him. “High King Peter the Magnificent,” he introduced himself proudly._

_She chuckled. “The Magnificent, hmm? Well, it is a_ pleasure _to meet you sire,” she assured him, sweeping into a deep curtsy._

 _“Don’t be patronizing, please. I know when I’m being mocked,” Peter sighed, sinking down. “Might I ask why you decided to haunt_ me? _”_

_“I didn’t. This is my room. I was killed here.” Danielle sat beside him, resting her arm casually on the back of the sofa, revealing a dark bloody red stain on her side._

_He flinched at the idea, eyes glancing over the spot. “I’m sorry,” he murmured after a moment, not entirely sure what to say._

_“Don’t be. It was over a century ago; I’m quite recovered,” she joked with a brilliant smile, waving a hand-_

“Peter…” Danielle tipped his chin up with a finger, smiling gently. “Daydreaming?”

He shook himself, standing slightly closer to her. “Sorry, Ellie,” he murmured distractedly. “Just thinking.”

“Come.” She slipped her hand into his, tugging. “We have centuries of catching up to do.” Peter let her lead him down the dank, cavernous hallway to the small room he was sleeping in. It was a sad step down from Cair Paravel and they were both all too sharply aware of the fact.

“A tomb is rather less glamorous than a palace for such a lovely ghost to be haunting,” he murmured, closing the door behind them.

Danielle sank onto his tiny cot with a sigh. “ _Much_ less, I am afraid. After the Cair was sacked by the Telmarines, I just couldn’t stay there and watch it be destroyed. Those walls were my _home_. So I left, traveled through the Woods and managed to scare off a few Telmarines in the process. Bastards,” she swore under her breath.

Peter lit a candle, smoke rings curling around his fingers as he shook the match out. “We saw what was left of it. It’s just… _ruins_. Pillars and broken stone.”

“Let’s not talk about those barbarians though,” she murmured, reaching for his hand, her eyes suddenly bright in the flickering glow.

He shivered slightly. “Danielle… I don’t know that we should. Things are awfully different and-”

Pressing her finger to his lips, she shook her head. “Sire, I insist. I have a habit of listening in on private conversations and I learned recently that you’re planning a rather reckless and probably rather bloody raid.” Danielle raised an eyebrow for confirmation. He nodded reluctantly after a beat, letting her continue. “I do believe you have a ritual you follow before a battle, my king.”

Unlike his sisters, she never judged his decisions, never had. He was the first to know if she thought something unwise but Danielle had always been understanding of him to a fault. She tugged him down beside her on the cot, her hand sliding onto his cheek. “Bad luck to skip a ritual.”

_It had been just about the time the Giants had begun to be a problem in the North when the ‘ritual’ first came to be. Peter hadn’t fought in a full-scale battle since Beruna and then he had been running on mostly adrenaline. Now, however, almost two years later, with plenty of time to dwell on the horrors of war, his nerves had already nearly gotten the better of him and they hadn’t even left the palace yet._

_Danielle had come to him the evening before the caravan was to set out, after everyone had long since retired to bed but Peter was still pacing around his chamber. “Sire, you have an awfully big day ahead of you to still be up giddy with excitement,” she had teased, appearing rather abruptly on the end of his bed._

_Jumping in surprise, he groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. “Sleep escapes me tonight,” he admitted reluctantly without meeting her eyes._

_“Battle can be frightening,” she agreed, taking his hand between both of hers. “You just need something to relax you.”_

_“I’m afraid warm milk isn’t going to do the trick.” Peter pulled his hand away, voice dry as a frown pulled at his mouth._

_Danielle chuckled quietly, shaking her head. “No, I suppose you’re right. But I know what will.” She stood, pushing back the covered screen that enclosed his bathing tub. “Don’t argue with me; just undress.” She filled the tub with hot water, pumped in through a complicated irrigation system of slanted pipes and churning pumps. It crossed his mind to protest but it probably wouldn’t do to anger a ghost, even one so pretty as Danielle._

_She finally turned around when the tub was brimming with water to find him standing awkwardly by the bed in his undershorts. Waving a hand, she shook her head. “No, no, all of it,” she insisted, much to his dismay. “You can’t bathe in your pants, now can you?”_

_Peter blushed crimson, reluctantly pulling the rest of his clothes off and folding them neatly on the bed. He walked across the room, avoiding her eyes studiously, much to her amusement, as he slid into the bath. Danielle reached for a soft, spongy scrub, dipping it in the water and running it over his back and shoulders. “Now just relax,” she murmured, kneeling down so she spoke in his ear. “Don’t think about battle or ruling or responsibility. Just_ relax _.”_

_He let his head fall back as she gently kneaded his tight muscles, her hands warm and tender. She had explained it to him one night when they sat whispering on his bed, her hand resting over his, that human contact made her corporeal. Not to mention there was a certain magic to the Cair and especially to that room, the place where she had lost her life. She could appear to anyone she liked, anywhere in the castle, but she had sensed Peter’s possessiveness, his longing for something he would never have to share with his siblings or with his subjects. So she had made a silent promise to remain his and his alone._

_The thoughts danced in her head as she slid one hand into the water, gently massaging his chest. A soft sigh ran through him as he slowly relaxed, eyes closing under her caring touch. Water lapped against his bare skin, growing lukewarm the longer they sat there in charged quiet. “Peter,” she whispered finally, her lips brushing his cheek as she leaned in. “Peter, let me…”_

_He shuddered, twisting slightly to look at her. “Danielle, I-” He blushed, insecure under her longing stare._

_Danielle held out a hand to help him from the bath and he rested his in it with trepidation. “Trust me,” she murmured. “Trust me, my king.”_

_Peter straightened slightly at the subtle reminder he needn’t be just a nervous boy. He was a_ king _. She traced his features with her fingertips, leading him to the bed, eyes holding his unrelentingly._

_“I do,” he promised. “With my life.” Sliding a hand onto her waist, he pulled her flush against him, fingers curling around the back of her neck, tangling in her hair as he hesitantly kissed her._

_Danielle smiled against his lips, her hands on his chest and in his hair. “Make love with me, Peter,” she whispered, letting him lift her onto the bed. He followed her up, his anxiety falling away easily at the way she looked at him._

“I don’t have a bathing tub here,” Peter pointed out, even as he slid a hand up her side with a steadiness that belied his true age and experience.

“Well it’s not as though that’s the most important part,” she grumbled. “Come, Peter, it’s been over a millennium since you last touched me.”

He chuckled quietly, leaning in to kiss her, his hand resting in the small of her back. She pressed closer, her moan soft and needy as she framed his face in her hands. Peter gently pushed her down on the cot, one hand bunching in the lacy fabric around her. With his eyes closed and his lips on hers, he could very nearly feel spun silk sheets beneath them instead of scratchy burlap and the sweet songs of Nightingales outside open French doors instead of the clang of freshly forged weapons.  

Danielle slipped her hands beneath his tunic, relishing the long-missed feel of his skin on hers, the play of his muscles under her hands. She pulled it off over his head, gasping softly as his own palms slid up her thighs, skin milky smooth and exactly as it had been the day she was murdered.

Peter moved, grinning at the annoyed groan she gave and curling his fingers under the neckline of her dress. He pulled, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at the rip that followed. They had learned quickly that it didn’t matter how he destroyed her dress, it was always in fine condition when she dressed again, so he had taken great pleasure in tearing it off her time and time again. She moaned, swatting unconvincingly at his chest as his hands tugged the dress off her, leaving her pale and creamy and tempting beneath him.

“Oh Ellie,” he breathed, ducking to press his lips to the soft slope of her breast. “Oh Ellie, I missed you…”

Brushing his hands away as he fumbled for his pants, she deftly untied and pushed them down. Peter moaned, resting his forehead against her shoulder for a moment as her fingers wrapped warmly around him. She had always had the perfect touch to make him see stars. Wrapping her legs around him, she pulled him in close, moaned as he filled her up.

Her arms slid around his neck, fingers in his hair and lips on his. They moved slowly, achingly so, until they both felt like they might burst. Peter pressed hot, breathy kisses down her throat, moaning with a sweet desperation neither of them could have contained.

When he woke, she was gone, as always, but he marched to Miraz’ fortress with his sword sharper and his head held higher than he would have without her.

And when he returned, beaten and bruised, she was there to greet him with open arms, to soothe his sorrow and to tend his wounds.


End file.
